Xiao Jingchuan: Hahahaha, Northern Barbarians, here I come…
Xiao Jingchuan opened his eyes.
“What’s going on? Wasn’t I preparing to negotiate peace with the Northern Barbarians?”
The black-haired, white-robed young man frowned, staring blankly at his hands. He noticed that his hands had taken on a strange, transparent form.
He could clearly see the bizarre surroundings through his palms—a stretch of yellow gravel ground, with nothing but yellow sand and stones as far as the eye could see. The desolation seemed endless, and even the sky was tinged with yellow.
He turned his head left and right, then curiously inserted his now spirit body fingers into his own eyes. A faint white light shimmered where his limbs made contact.
“Hiss, how fascinating. So this is what it feels like to touch the inside of my own eyes.”
Xiao Jingchuan soon lost interest in playing with his own body and turned his gaze toward the black river not far away.
The young founding emperor of Da Qian thought to himself, “Since I’m already here, I might as well take a look around.” With that, he cheerfully strode toward the black river.
The wind howled across the desolate land, carrying yellow sand and revealing sections of white bones buried beneath.
As the river gradually became clearer amidst the wind and sand, a stall-like cart, resembling those of street vendors, came into view. It was parked close to the river, adorned with a strange, flickering signboard. The words on it, however, were somewhat incomprehensible.
【AAA Delicious to the Bite, Reincarnate for 5000 Years Wholesale and Retail Outlet.】
Xiao Jingchuan was utterly bewildered. Just then, a figure emerged from behind the cart—a young-looking man dressed in black and red, wearing an unusual style of cross-collared robe he had never seen before. The robe was adorned with a black-and-red cape as delicate as cicada wings, and a copper coin-patterned red silk hat jingled crisply with his movements. The fabric was exquisite, shimmering with subtle patterns of poetry.
The poetry read: “On the road beneath Mang Mountain, past and present, yellow dust buries heroes; life’s regrets are endless, as rivers flow eastward forever.”
Bei Mang?
Though Xiao Jingchuan was no scholar, he had heard of the Mang Mountain legend—”Born in Suzhou and Hangzhou, buried in Mang Mountain”—from the constant reminders of his prime minister, Jun Youcheng.
Who would name their child after Mang Mountain? That’s terribly unlucky!
Xiao Jingchuan stroked his chin. And where exactly had he ended up? This didn’t look like the Hanhai shore where the peace negotiations were supposed to take place.
…The customs here are truly strange, with yellow sand filling the sky… Could it be… that he had awakened some divine power, traveling thousands of miles in his dreams all the way to the western desert?
“Hehehe—Your Majesty, you’ve finally arrived! I’ve been waiting for you here for so long!”
Bei Mang looked up and saw him, laughing as if he were mad. His tone was casual but carried an aged quality—not in his voice, but in the cadence and rhythm of his speech.
“You’re the last one. Someone from the future? Or the previous dynasty? Ah, never mind. Anyway, someone made an effort, and now that Your Majesty has graced us with your presence, everyone is here. I can finally start the group. They’re all waiting for you on the other side of the river.”
The words coming from Bei Mang’s mouth were just as incomprehensible as the signboard.
“Waiting for me? It must be Lao Jun and the others. I knew those three wouldn’t be so heartless as to abandon me. What kind of emperor would keep his ministers waiting? I’ll go settle the score with them right away!”
Although Xiao Jingchuan couldn’t understand what Bei Mang was saying, it didn’t stop him from confidently beginning to fill in reality with his own assumptions. He seemed to have thought of something, his eyes suddenly lighting up like a child who had just received his favorite candy.
“…I knew it…”
Bei Mang sighed. His eyes, hidden beneath the copper coin bamboo hat, noticed Xiao Jingchuan’s puzzled gaze and quietly watched him. Only then did Xiao Jingchuan notice that the other’s eyes were a strange blood-red, like freshly spilled blood.
Xiao Jingchuan suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. His hand reflexively reached for the Emperor’s Sword at his waist, which had accompanied him throughout his military life.
The moment Bei Mang looked at him, it felt as if he were being stared at by mountains of corpses and rivers of blood formed from the ghosts of countless people across endless generations. That person’s eyes were bottomless graves of withered bones.
Bei Mang did not remain silent for long: “But Your Majesty, waiting for you comes at a cost. That person will pay it too.”
Xiao Jingchuan was taken aback but remained confident: “What cost? Let Heaven come to me for it. I rule over all four seas—what cost could I possibly not afford? ‘The lord insisted on crossing the river—what could anyone do about it?'”
In a rather good mood, Xiao Jingchuan imitated his prime minister by quoting an ancient text he didn’t know the origin of, attempting to channel the heroic spirit of Emperor Wu of Wei when he “stood by the Jieshi Rock to gaze upon the vast sea.”
Somewhat awkwardly, after pretentiously finishing his words, he failed to cross the river.
He had barely taken a step when an invisible force from the black river flung him backward, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground.
However, Xiao Jingchuan didn’t mind his loss of composure. When he was alive, having risen from humble refugee origins, he never paid much attention to imperial decorum in daily life, only putting on a show during court sessions to deceive the noble families and the Ministry of Rites. In death, he had returned to his true self, caring about nothing.
Bei Mang laughed, a chilling sound: “Ah, Your Majesty, my apologies. This old one is a bit dim-sighted and forgot to give you the soup… This river is not easy to cross.”
He pulled out a long cup made of an unknown material from the cart, sealed at both ends with only a thick straw for drinking, and handed it to Xiao Jingchuan.
“Drink this, then walk straight ahead. Everyone has their own bridge—it will appear when you step onto the river.”
Bei Mang spoke with practiced ease, as if he had repeated these words countless times.
Xiao Jingchuan was baffled. What kind of place was this, where bridges could appear automatically? And why did he seem to smell the scent of milk-boiled tea?
He remembered that Prime Minister Jun Youcheng enjoyed drinking it this way.
Xiao Jingchuan clasped his hands in salute to Bei Mang, as if he had returned to his days as a wandering knight: “Thank you!”
Before leaving, Xiao Jingchuan finally remembered the most important question he hadn’t asked.
“By the way, may I ask where this place is—”
At the very least, he needed to know where he was.
Bei Mang replied: “The pivot of yin and yang’s rotation, the knot of life and death’s cycle. Haven’t you realized it yet?”
Xiao Jingchuan suddenly had a bad premonition. Just a step ahead of him was the black river. As he gazed at it, he suddenly understood.
There was no reflection of him on the river.
“Your Majesty, Xiao Jingchuan… you are already dead.”
Mang Mountain, which had buried the withered bones of countless heroes, looked at him with what could almost be described as compassionate pity.
“Qian Taizu, you are already dead.”
Xiao Jingchuan staggered uncontrollably toward the river amidst the thunderous voice ringing in his ears. This time, he was not repelled.
The yellow wind and sand were the Road to the Yellow Springs, the soup vendor was Bei Mang, the soup he sold was Meng Po’s Soup, and the name of the water he was about to cross surfaced in his mind.
The River of Forgetfulness… the River of Forgetfulness.
Before falling into the River of Forgetfulness, Xiao Jingchuan turned back in shock, wanting to see Bei Mang’s expression. In that moment, time seemed to slow down. Power, fame, and fortune instantly became the least important things in this vast expanse of the Yellow Springs. The might of an earthly emperor was insignificant here.
Countless Manjusaka flowers bloomed beneath Bei Mang’s feet, their bloodstains soaking the yellow sand, still glowing like embers after a fire.
Amidst those embers, Xiao Jingchuan, about to fall into the three thousand waters of the River of Forgetfulness, saw lines of written characters.
It was… the annals of history.
The historian casually lifted his brush, concluding the nearly century-long chaos of the former Yan and the tumultuous Three Kings’ War. The newly established Da Qian Dynasty thus flowed into the long river of time.
In the seventh year of the Zhengxing era of Da Qian, Grand Marshal and General Gu Yue died from the recurrence of old wounds while riding alone through a thousand troops to save the emperor.
In the eighth year of the Zhengxing era of Da Qian, Imperial Censor, Governor, Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, and Central Chancellor Jun Youcheng passed away from exhaustion after painstakingly calculating the land system.
In the ninth year of the Zhengxing era of Da Qian, Da Qian’s State Preceptor, Minister of Rites, and Temple Official Dian Cui died after divining the nation’s fate from the heavens.
The souls of the founding era turned into lines of blood-stained ink characters, flashing before Xiao Jingchuan’s eyes, reminding him of their deaths.
Gu Yue left first—his health had always been poor from constant warfare, and he fought with reckless abandon… Jun Youcheng also departed early… He should never have let him calculate that land system; it was a task that demanded every ounce of his strength. And Dian Cui… that fool who never listened to advice…
What virtue or ability did he possess… what virtue or ability? These deceivers had promised, promised to welcome together the prosperous era they had built. How did it end with only him left?
Xiao Jingchuan thought, fortunately, in the end, he did not remain either.
The historian continued to write, and Xiao Jingchuan knew all too well what would happen next.
The Son of Heaven chose to be buried alongside his three loyal ministers.
[Early Qian Period, the world was at peace. In the seventh year of the Zhengxing era of Qian Taizu, General Gu Yue crushed the Northern Barbarians’ royal court. The Chanyu fled north, and his followers scattered. Envoys were sent to present tribute, begging to be accepted as vassals. The emperor, pitying the exhaustion of the people, granted their plea for peace.]
[In the thirteenth year of Zhengxing, with the three heroes having passed, the emperor was deeply grieved and fell ill. Northern envoys arrived to request an alliance at Hanhai. The emperor forced himself to attend court, but the barbarian chieftain was arrogant and spoke defiantly. Enraged, the emperor vomited blood, and his illness worsened. He passed away at the Hanhai encampment.]
[The crown prince, dressed in mourning, rushed to the scene and wept bitterly by the coffin. Upon ascending the throne, he donned armor himself and vowed to lead a northern campaign. His edict declared: “In the past, Emperor Xiaowu faced peril and ultimately cleansed the Dragon Court. Now, I, bearing the Mandate of Heaven, shall avenge this disgrace for all under heaven!” The ministers prostrated themselves at the palace gates, none daring to dissent. Thus, the barbarians were driven back a thousand li.]
Hahaha…
Xiao Jingchuan laughed. After reliving this ending like a revolving lantern, he even laughed joyfully.
Excellent, the crown prince had done it. Truly worthy of his sister’s child, as decisive and capable as his sister.
When the Northern Barbarians sued for peace, the deaths of his three founding friends had left him with few capable people at his side. In a moment of negligence, Xiao Jingchuan was betrayed by anti-war factions within the country. His already ailing body, further weakened by an assassination attempt, became fatally wounded.
Since this life was destined to reach its end, why not let it serve one final purpose?
Thus, Xiao Jingchuan abruptly abandoned his previously staunch pro-war stance and, with a grand wave, agreed to the Hanhai peace talks with the Northern Barbarians. Then, in a formidable display, he personally marched to Hanhai.
As his chancellor, Jun Youcheng, put it, it was nothing short of a setup.
Xiao Jingchuan died in Hanhai just as he had wished, and the timing of his death was impeccable—ensuring that those spineless advocates of peace would be left utterly speechless. In the past, it had always been Han envoys who fearlessly ventured forth on diplomatic missions; now, it was time for a change. Are you afraid, Northern Barbarians? Your neighbor’s emperor has come to die in person!
For one of such exalted status as the Nine Cauldrons to take the path of a death-defying warrior was unheard of throughout the ages. Regardless of what became of Da Qian, his name would be immortalized in history!
Laughing, Xiao Jingchuan plunged headfirst into the turbulent waters of the River of Forgetfulness as his life flashed before his eyes.
He quickly forgot the sorrow of death—or rather, he had never felt such a thing in the first place—leaving only a single thought in his mind:
Wait, hold on! Where’s the Naihe Bridge? Wasn’t it supposed to appear?!
Unable to swim, Xiao Jingchuan tried to reach out to Bei Mang on the shore for help, but before he could utter a word, a wave from the River of Forgetfulness and the Yellow Springs crashed over him, dragging him under.
Thus, the founding emperor of Da Qian’s final sound in the River of Forgetfulness was:
“Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle—”
**
In the Imperial Prison of Jinling City, the capital of Nan Qian.
This could no longer be considered a normal structure. The outer gate was firmly locked, and the courtyard was overgrown with all manner of weeds, with only a few patches of land cleared in an obviously unskilled manner.
The courtyard was surrounded by neatly partitioned cubicles, each door studded with menacing gears and iron nails. The only source of light came from a square window enclosed by iron bars.
Through the dim, twilight-like iron-barred window, one could see inside one of the rooms: a youth in a white round-collared robe lay collapsed on a straw-covered floor, his face frighteningly pale.
His eyes were dull, and he was so weak that his breathing was nearly imperceptible. His lightly closed eyelids seemed as though they would never open again…
Suddenly, the youth’s eyes snapped open.
“—By Donghuang Taiyi—!”
After enduring death and a second demise in the Yellow Springs, the ill-fated Xiao Jingchuan opened his eyes once more. Gasping heavily, he clutched his chest, the suffocating agony of drowning in the River of Forgetfulness still vivid in his mind.
“Hah, I’m not dead?”
Xiao Jingchuan sensed something different about his body. He hurriedly raised his hands and saw that they were no longer the translucent hands of a soul but real, human hands through which nothing behind them could be seen.
“I actually didn’t die! Hah, what luck! Hahaha, I’m alive!”
Summoning strength from who knows where, he sprang upright like a fish, nearly dancing with joy over his resurrection.
“But these hands… Did I reincarnate? That can’t be right—I clearly drank Meng Po’s Soup. How could I still have memories if I reincarnated? Could it be, as the chancellor said, that unscrupulous merchants are so brazen these days that even Meng Po’s Soup is adulterated? That ghost immortal Bei Mang didn’t seem like that kind of person, though.”
Xiao Jingchuan had just recovered from the excitement of being alive again and immediately began carefully examining his own hands—these were not only not semi-transparent, but they also lacked the various calluses and scars left from years of marching and fighting. They were terrifyingly tender, more like those of a young man around the age of twenty.
“Wow.”
Xiao Jingchuan swayed slightly, and a metallic object fell from his collar, landing on the marble floor overgrown with weeds. He crouched down, a flicker of delight appearing before his eyes.
“Never thought the first one I’d encounter would be you, old friend…”
He crouched lower, picking up the object with a nostalgic and complex expression—it was an old-looking bronze mirror, one of the very things that had helped him resolve to start the rebellion before founding the Qian Dynasty.
[Ding—Your Imperial Enterprise Companion Qin Emperor’s Bone-Reflecting Mirror System, serial number t12+2, is now online! Ready to serve you anytime, anywhere!]
Xiao Jingchuan flipped open the mirror, and the familiar, almost inhuman prompt sounded once again in his ears.
A divine mirror that called itself the Qin Emperor’s Bone-Reflecting Mirror, said to have been crafted by the First Emperor. As in legend, it could reflect all aspects of the world and see through people’s hearts. Moreover, it seemed to possess a vast database of knowledge, an omniscient and all-knowing divine artifact that had provided immense assistance during his unification of the five regions and the establishment of Da Qian.
Xiao Jingchuan’s previously empty heart suddenly felt a little fuller. Since his ascension to the throne, this divine mirror had been missing for a long time. Seeing it again now truly stirred the excitement of reuniting with an old friend.
He flipped the bronze mirror open, facing it toward himself, and saw a very familiar face—one almost identical to his own in his youth, only weaker, duller, and lacking vitality.
It looked like himself at nineteen or twenty.
“Little mirror, can you tell me what’s going on now?”
Xiao Jingchuan lay down on the ground, sprawling in an ungraceful star shape, and began talking to himself while holding up the mirror.
Unfortunately, before the Bone-Reflecting Mirror could speak, an intense pain surged from the back of his head. Xiao Jingchuan frowned tightly as countless memories that did not belong to him unfolded before his eyes like scenes from a stage play.
It seemed he had indeed been reborn—at least, he hadn’t returned to his own nineteen-year-old self. The good news was that his current body was that of Xiao Chuan, the sixth prince of the current emperor in this era, centuries later. Born into the royal family, his status was noble.
The bad news was that he was an idiot, deeply unpopular. His mother was an ordinary palace maid who had died early from illness, and he was despised by the current emperor. The sixth prince himself had been directly thrown into the cold palace. Moreover, a few days ago, due to not eating for too long, he had a sudden fit of foolishness and accidentally offended the currently favored Consort Gan, who was at the height of her power. The arrogant and domineering Consort Gan had him thrown into prison, where he starved to death.
He died in prison, and no one even cared. Xiao Jingchuan sneered coldly: It was clear that the current emperor truly had no regard for this son. As a father, he was unparalleled in his neglect throughout history.
Even a vicious tiger wouldn’t eat its own cubs. Xiao Jingchuan wondered which dynasty’s emperor could be so absurd. He thought to himself, it’s fine, he could endure it. As long as his Da Qian became stronger, he didn’t mind.
The career-focused Xiao Jingchuan diligently searched his mind for information about the current political landscape, managing to find some clues in the fragmented memories of this sixth prince.
The nation is named Nan Qian, surpassing the reign of Qian Taizu, Emperor Zhengxing, by one hundred and one years… Wait!
Nan… Qian?!
Author’s Note:
It’s starting, it’s starting! (rubbing hands eagerly) I’ve wanted to write this book for a long time.
An atypical Celestial Screen story. Because I plan to write it long, the pacing will be quite slow. Initially, the focus will be on gathering the four-person group, and then the Celestial Screen will be introduced. So, at the beginning, the protagonist won’t be the central figure on stage, but don’t worry—they will be soon enough.
This work is filled with the author’s wild ideas—a dynasty blending various eras, all based on personal settings. The language will be relatively colloquial due to the author’s limited skill level.
There are many historical in-jokes and references, but the author is a hopeless history illiterate. The plot, political schemes, and war elements are all made up—truly limited ability, please go easy on the criticism…
The worldbuilding is extensive, and there will be modern-world sections later.
Since the author has diverse tastes, various combinations of male-male, female-female, and male-female dynamics will appear… Consider this a heads-up.
Also, none of the characters are traditionally “good people,” but the Emperor Taizu truly treats the State Preceptor, the General, and the Prime Minister as close siblings from different parents—leaning toward idealism.
There are elements of fantasy; it’s not entirely realistic. Some modern phrasing is intentional.
The characters’ statements do not represent the author’s views—purely for entertainment.
Ensemble cast—a very, very ensemble cast!
The pacing at the beginning is very, very slow! Please stick around for later parts!
Thank you for reading. I’ll add more here if I think of anything later.
Here’s a preview of my upcoming work: “After the Infinite Flow System Handed Itself Over to the Country”
System t88 received a work project from headquarters related to its homeland but unexpectedly discovered that the tasks back home were a complete mess.
A national destiny apocalypse game—an infinite flow—was about to descend upon its home planet, Blue Star, and this time, all its hosts were players in the national destiny game.
Its workload skyrocketed from assisting one host in defying fate to helping countless potential hosts survive, all with death-level difficulty—essentially making one system do the work of eight.
The diligent workaholic system t88 seriously began its plan: it decided to step in personally and face the impending national destiny apocalypse game alongside the people of that world.
After receiving the apocalypse prophecy from t88, the Chinese authorities noticed that as the national destiny game began, more and more “two-faced” individuals started appearing with the approach of the apocalypse.
To manage these special reincarnators, transmigrators, and loopers, the Chinese authorities deliberately established the Eighth Bureau to oversee the “novel protagonists.”
A refined young clerk named He Yan was controversially appointed as the executive deputy director of the Special Control Eighth Bureau, tasked with personally recruiting those “protagonists” with unique game skills.
He Yan (t88): Assisting them one by one is too inefficient. Why not just solve the national destiny game? Then all the hosts would survive, right?
【1】
The love-obsessed female lead from a stockpiling apocalypse novel possesses a jade pendant that recognizes blood relations, but all she can think is: I’ve been reborn! Upon my return, I must make the scumbag man and woman pay! Then marry my new love—the Zombie King!
He Yan: Protagonist of the novel Apocalypse Rebirth: After Crushing Scumbags, I Married the Zombie King, your jade pendant is quite useful. You studied geography in university, right? I’ll swap your in-game profession sequence skill for Geographic Information System, turning the jade pendant into a miniature Earth. Go and detect dungeon data.
Thus, the romance-obsessed female lead transformed into the Eye of the Apocalypse Game, providing countless dungeon data for the Chinese authorities.
【2】
The overly weak yet absurdly lucky infinite stream idiot streamer male lead: Spirits of heaven and earth, oh great System, reveal yourself! Help, help, help! Can you help me awaken my profession sequence skill, please?!
He Yan: Protagonist shou of the novel Idiot Beauty Gets Haunted by an Evil God, your VIP in the mall has expired too. Let me pull some strings and use points to swap your skill for an abstract emoji pack collection.
Idiot Beauty: ??? Wait, hold on! System bro! What the hell is an abstract emoji pack?!
Later, Idiot Beauty became the most popular streamer in the Infinite Apocalypse Game by going abstract, and incidentally kicked his forced-love evil god husband to the curb.
“I say, let there be laughter! Laugh, everyone! Do not fall into the void of despair!”
“Take this sweating yellow bean!”
【3】
Reborn Mystic Sect Senior Disciple: Ever since that junior brother joined the sect, all my fellow disciples, the master, and even everyone in the Xuanmen have become strange… How can I gain their trust and make them believe that junior brother is truly abnormal?
He Yan: Original male lead of the Cthulhu-style male-oriented novel Immortal King in the World. Keywords: trust… This kind of affinity golden finger is hard to find, and the opponent is a Long Aotian male lead. But I borrowed a harem intrigue system from a colleague next door, which should achieve the same effect.
Mystic Sect Senior Disciple: Absurd! I was driven out of the sect by that junior brother, and he even wants to tear me to pieces. How could I possibly fawn over my own enemy!
He Yan: Check your system.
Mystic Sect Senior Disciple: 【Mission issued: Improve your own strength.
If standards are met, reward: Imperial strategy +10】
Mystic Sect Senior Disciple: Wait, I… am going to unify the Xuanmen and ascend the throne? So this is the kind of harem intrigue? Thank you, ascended ancestor!
Later, the Mystic Sect Senior Disciple transformed into a top-ten expert on the National Destiny Game leaderboard, becoming one of China’s most steadfast pillars.
…
All the protagonists felt deep gratitude toward Deputy Director He Yan, thanking him profusely.
He Yan: Don’t thank me yet. Come to the bureau.
Protagonists: ? What bureau?
He Yan: The Eighth Bureau of Special Control Against the National Destiny Game. Come join me in using national power to fight the National Destiny Game.
Protagonists: …
Holy shit! I thought you were the main system handing out golden fingers, but you’re actually a leader handing out government positions!
The National Destiny Game descends upon reality, but don’t be afraid—the nation stands behind you.
Instance Death Railway Radio? Then mobilize the National Railway Dispatch Center, connect to the infinite flow instance, and stagger all the death trains that would collide.
Instance Shanyin Village? Then deploy poverty alleviation cadre and volunteer teacher players to fulfill the villagers’ wishes, guiding lost souls to peace in this prosperous era.
Instance City Skyline? A desolate land without roads? Then build bridges! Build bridges! Launch infrastructure projects, set the national machinery running at full speed!
“Reporting! Occupation sequence: plateau volunteer teacher, applying to join the organization!”
“Reporting! Occupation sequence: poverty alleviation cadre, applying to join the organization!”
“Reporting! Occupation sequence: logistics worker, applying to join the organization!”
“Reporting! Occupation sequence: abstract streamer, applying to join the organization!”
…
Dear comrade, welcome to the Anti-National Destiny Game Alliance. We will fight on, forever immortal.
Also known as How Can Someone’s Skill Be Modifying Other People’s Skills?, With the Nation as Our Backing, What Instance Can’t Be Solved?, Hello, Comrade.
An atypical National Destiny story, essentially an infinite flow ensemble piece where millions unite as one to become a shooting star, combining national power with individual strength to fight the National Destiny Game.
The male lead, as per the usual trope, is a beloved and pampered figure cherished by a group of doting “motherly” characters. After years of diligent work at the World Supervision Bureau, he returns to his home world and summons his system colleagues to lend a hand. The essence of modifying his cheat ability lies in swapping systems.
But in truth, the protagonist is fighting for everyone in the infinite survival battle.
Core concept: Mere infinite flow? Leave it to the nation!